


They don't love you like I love you

by leigh57



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1220296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Infinite, the ways she could love watching him take joy in Sophia’s existence, even on days much like today, when their daughter was more or less behaving like a selfish little shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They don't love you like I love you

**Author's Note:**

> There is no explanation for this save that I have read _one too many_ AUs where Sophia is alive. And there is nothing I can do about the ache in my heart every time I think about it. So! Here is some unapologetic squash combined with hurt/comfort (sorta), and if that is not your tea, there is no question that you should be moving along and assuming there is nothing to see here.
> 
> All the thanks to adrenalin211 for leaving real comments after a 12 hour day at work.
> 
> The title is taken from the song "Maps," by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

The ceaseless hammering from the construction workers installing a fence next door was so deafening that she didn't even hear Daryl open the door or the bang of his boots hitting the floor in the entryway.

The headache had attacked so quickly, sensation of a hundred miniature ice picks hacking on the inside of her skull, that she'd barely had time to drop down on the couch and grab one of the throw pillows to put over her eyes, anything to block out the assault of late afternoon sunshine slanting past the curtains through the living room window.

"Hey, what's goin' on?"

His voice made her jump. The pillow fell sidewise on the couch, a fresh wave of nausea washing through her until sweat prickled up her neck and saliva welled in the back of her throat. She drew in a long breath to calm her stomach, trying to push past the pain and force her confused brain to process information. "Stupid headache," she mumbled, squinting in an attempt to look at him. He came into fuzzy focus, his hands clenched, jaw tight with concern. "Why're you home so early? Is something wrong?"

He took two steps forward and knelt down by the couch, smoothing back her sweaty hair with rough fingers. "Nothin's wrong. It's Friday an' I wanted to come home and spend some time with my girls. Shop's slow this afternoon anyway. Merle's just fuckin' around with some ancient Harley. Wouldn’t believe me when I told him it was a piece of shit." He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her eyebrow. "Where's Soph?"

"Not here, thank god," Carol muttered before she could edit herself. She sighed, then added quickly, "Sorry. She's at Emily's, working on some history project they have to turn in Monday."

Daryl's thumb made a soothing circle on her left temple. "You two have another fight? That why you're curled up on the couch with a pillow over your face?"

She nodded, wincing when the movement made the throbbing in her head even more violent. "She's so-"

"Fourteen?" Daryl supplied with a halfhearted chuff. "I swear I can't leave you two alone for five minutes anymore." He glanced toward the kitchen. "You take anything?"

"I was working up to that. Two more minutes and-"

"Right," he scoffed, kissing her head again before standing up. She shut her eyes and listened to the sound of his long strides on the wood, the muffled thud of a cupboard opening and closing, followed by the clink of the fridge door. (She knew he was trying to be quiet, because normally he'd just give the cupboard a decisive slam.) A second later he was back beside her, holding out an open can of Diet Coke and four round orange Advil. "Take these and meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes, okay?"

"What?" She pushed herself up enough to take the pills from his extended hand and jam them into her mouth, washing them down with a fizzy swish of freezing soda. The cold liquid in her mouth dialed the pain down by maybe a degree. "Why?"

"Just trust me. Ten minutes." He disappeared around the corner and down the hallway.

_________________________

She had no idea whether or not she'd ballparked the time even close, but the shattering sensation in her head had faded enough that she was confident she could stand up, so she pushed herself off the couch and walked cautiously down the hallway, keeping her head as still as possible. When she pushed open the door to the master bathroom, she couldn't help the grin that washed over her face, warming her cheeks.

Daryl was sitting on the edge of their oversized tub, testing the water temperature with the inside of his wrist. (He'd surprised her with it when they remodeled a couple years ago, both because they really enjoyed sharing that space sometimes and because a long bath, complete with salts and scented oil, was one of her favorite treats to help her relax after a long week of teaching piano lessons and helping Daryl and Merle figure out the books at their shop.) She could smell the vanilla oil rising in the wispy clouds of steam, and there were three candles burning on the sink, flames flashing and dancing in the heated room.

Daryl had already changed out of his work clothes, now barefoot and wearing a plain grey t-shirt and a dark, worn pair of jeans, not a drop of oil or grease in sight. He turned off the water and smiled at her, and she wondered (again) if her heart would ever stop doing that _thing_ when he looked at her, wondered how he made her feel so damn good all over even when her head hurt so badly she kind of wanted to throw up.

"C'mon babe. Crawl in here until you feel better." He stood up and grabbed the fluffy pine green towel he'd set on the sink, placing it on the floor right next to the tub. "Call me if you want me t'bring you anything."

She yanked her tank top off and tossed it on the floor, glancing up at him. "Why don't you stay?"

His eyes dropped instantly to the thin blue fabric of her bra, and there was a small beat before he caught himself and looked back at her face. "Just want you to relax."

She flicked open the button on her jeans, vaguely aware that she could be stripping a lot more sexily, but her head hurt too much to let her care. "I will relax." Reaching behind her back, she released the clasp on her bra pulled it off before finally hooking her thumbs through her underwear and getting rid of those, too. "But I'd love the company."

She stepped into the steaming tub and gasped at how delicious it felt, sinking down into the softly-scented warmth. Her eyes slipped shut automatically for a second, and she didn't open them until she was immersed to her chin. When she did, she looked up to find Daryl staring sort of at the bottle of shampoo to her left, his ears touched with red. "What's wrong?" she asked, confused.

He shook his head. "Tryin' to take care of you and I just wind up starin' at you naked."

Carol pulled her hand out of the water and held it out to him, bubbles sliding off her arm and shoulder. "Come sit with me?"

He hesitated, but after a second he dropped down by the tub and grabbed her hand, squeezing it with gentle pressure on her palm. "I ain't tryin' to get you in the mood for anything, is all I meant," he mumbled, his voice quiet.

God, how was he even real? She swallowed against the sudden crush in her throat and said, looking right in his eyes, "First, I _invited_ you. Second, I love it when you stare at me naked." He dropped his gaze, and she waited until he looked back up to continue. "And third, I _know_ you're not trying to do anything except make me feel better." She paused, taking in the adorable torn expression on his face. "I feel better when you're here. Okay?"

He ducked his head the way he always did when trying to dodge a compliment without saying something dismissive, but gave a tiny nod.

They sat that way for a while, the only sounds in the room the occasional splash when she shifted to shake out the knots in her shoulders and that soothing cello music Daryl had put on the iPod. She was almost drifting toward sleep when he asked, “What were you fighting about?”

She opened her eyes and studied his face, the concerned creases that arced at the corners of his eyes. Sure, he’d been Sophia’s dad for seven years now, but still, not a day went by when Carol’s heart didn’t stretch open. Infinite, the ways she could love watching him take joy in Sophia’s existence, even on days much like today, when their daughter was more or less behaving like a selfish little shit. He had so much more patience, so much more tolerance, than she did, and sometimes his zen in the face of Sophia’s endless teenage smartmouth snark made her more than a little jealous. Plus, there was always the part where if their daughter got _really_ out of line, all he had to do was fall silent and fix her with that stare, and the attitude would immediately evaporate, an exploding thunderstorm that came and went in two minutes flat.

Carol wished she had the power to be that intimidating when she felt like it. She rubbed a wet finger at the corner of her eye and shrugged. “I overreacted. When I got home from work, she hadn’t finished cleaning her bathroom, and then she was pissed off because I hadn’t gotten the chance to wash the leggings she wanted to wear to Em’s for their study date tonight.”

A quick angry shadow darted over Daryl’s face. “I’ll talk to her about that laundry bullshit, but if she’s five minutes short of bein’ done with the bathroom, you think maybe you could-”

“Let it go?” Carol lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

Wisely, he shifted the subject a touch. “If you scoot a little this way, I can rub your shoulders with this vanilla shit Merle ordered from some online place I don’t wanna know about.”

“You don’t have to. Today’s the first day this week you haven’t put in ten hours. I know you’re tired.”

“I _want_ to. So stop arguin’ and turn around!” he exclaimed, no punch behind his words.

“Okay, here!” She turned sideways, her back toward him, and sat up enough that he could reach her shoulders and upper arms, bubbles popping and sliding as she shifted. Behind her, she could hear him rubbing his hands together, and then his strong fingers were all over her shoulders and neck, thumbs pressing on all the tight tender places, the deliciously-scented oil making it easier for his fingers to slide over her skin. “God. That feels-” She sucked in a long breath. “Amazing.”

He leaned forward, kissing her hair. “Good.”

“I’m glad you came home early,” she whispered, turning her head to touch her lips to the edge of his.

They tilted in a grin. “Me, too. Soph gonna be home in time for dinner?”

“I think so. Why?”

“‘Cause I wanna get takeout from that new place over on Kirkland. The one with the blackened swordfish she’s been beggin’ to try?”

Carol smirked. “The place where a side order of fries costs eight fifty? No wonder she likes you better.”

“Don’t say that.” His hands stopped moving, but the thumbs that had been pressing in a pleasurable way moments before now dug in to the point just this side of pain.

“I was joking!”

“It ain’t funny.” He dropped his hands. Her shoulders went cold where they were exposed to the air after the vanishing warmth of his palms. Clenching her hands together in the water, hidden beneath the bubbles so he couldn’t see them, Carol turned slowly so that she could look at him.

She’d tripped something.

It didn’t happen often, but it did happen, and she knew the signs. She also knew that the only response that worked was to wait, let him decide when (or if, there wasn’t always a when) he wanted to say more.

The headache had mostly receded, so she watched the yellow and blue lights on the candles shift and shimmer while she waited to see if he’d speak.

Eventually he said, rubbing the pad of his thumb over a knuckle, “D’you know why she says that shit to you?”

“Yeah, because she’s fourteen and pissed at the world.”

“No!” he exclaimed, louder and more vehement that she’d expected at all. “Because she _knows_ how much you love her. That you ain’t ever gonna hit her. Or lock her out of the house. Or go upstairs and get-” He stopped, cheeks red even in the soft light. She could hear the quick in and out of his breaths, see his pulse tapping too fast against the column of his throat.

She brushed away the tear tracking down her cheek, realizing too late that her soaking hand was only going to make it worse. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I _know_ she knows.”

He reached for her hand, already shaking his head. “No, ‘m the sorry one.” His voice dropped and cracked when he said, “Jus’ can’t stand when you don’t see how-” He paused, rubbing a knuckle at the edge of his eye. “The other night when you were out drinkin’ fruity drinks or whatever shit at that tapas bar? We’re in the kitchen making that spinach salad she pretends to like now, and she says outta nowhere, ‘Every single one of my friends wishes Mom was their mom. And I don’t blame them.’”

Another tear slid out, but she let that one go. “She said that?”

“Exact words.” He let go of her hand and rubbed wet fingers over his face. “Can’t stand it when you think anything else just because she’s findin’ out how far she can push.”

“Sometimes it’s just-”

Her sentence was interrupted by an insanely loud door slam, the crash of something being unceremoniously dropped in the entryway, and Sophia yelling, “Mom? Dad?”

Daryl’s face transformed into the smile that was _only_ for his daughter. “One second, hon. You wanna go to Flanagan's with me?”

A beat of silence, then Sophia’s excited voice. “REALLY?”

“Yeah. Don’t take off your shoes.” Before he stood up, he leaned forward and kissed Carol full on the mouth, his tongue brushing over her lower lip as she tasted the mouthwash he must have been gargling with while he prepped her bath. “How’s your head now?”

“Ten more minutes in here and it’ll be a hundred percent,” she replied. She grabbed his face with wet hands and kissed him again, this one messier and less restrained. But she let him go before it got too intense. “Thank you. For this. For-” Her voice sank to a whisper. “Everything.”

“Back in about forty-minutes. You want the cajun-blackened steak like you said?”

“Yep.” When he was reaching for the doorknob, she said, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Tonight, after she goes to bed, this headache’s gonna be long gone.”

“I hope so, shit,” he said, his blank face indicating that her attempted invitation had gone right over his head. Sometimes his modesty was both adorable and exasperating.

“And maybe I can try that new massage oil from the sketch website on you. While you’re naked,” she added, just to make sure he couldn’t miss the message this time.

His eyes widened and sparked, and a slow smile spread over his face. “Lookin’ forward to it,” he said as he opened the door. It was almost closed when he stuck his head back in and murmured, his voice barely audible to make sure Sophia didn’t hear, “Guarantee I’ll make you glad you got the steak.”


End file.
